


Welcome Back, How was Hell?

by ChronalScribe



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Family Fluff, Gen, Hospitalization, Post Star Trek: Into Darkness, Sarcasm is what the doctor ordered
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-07
Updated: 2013-10-30
Packaged: 2017-12-14 06:03:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/833588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChronalScribe/pseuds/ChronalScribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After dealing with Khan and proving that he had a solution to the Kobayashi Maru, James T. Kirk is sent straight to one of the most prestigious hospitals covered by Starfleet. His family is there to make sure he's alright as well as make sure he doesn't screw over his own recovery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome Back, How was Hell?

       James Tiberius Kirk is **bored**. And, it isn’t the routine boredom that can be alleviated with a game of 3D chess or catching up on lost episodes of a favored holo-vision broadcast.

       No, this boredom was anything but routine. The only thing that made it worse was the knowledge that he could do nothing about it. For his most trusted doctor, who also happened to be one of his best friends, was getting a little trigger-happy; and no, not in the ‘I’m going to end you’ way.

       It was **mutiny** , plain and simple. His CMO was keeping him sedated so Spock would be the only one fit and able to helm the Enterprise. Though there was the nagging suspicion that the doctor actually had legitimate reasons for the continuous introduction of medicine into his patient’s body; if that were true, it meant Jim was just **paranoid**.

       The latter was definitely the favored scenario.

And, just as thoughts began to solidify and words form on his tongue, there’s pain and blackness. Jim barely has the will to remember how much he hates Bones.

       The first four days of his new life (that’s what he believes it _should_ be called) is spent in this manner. In the little crevices of his mind where the thoughts of his second life take shelter, he’s decided to call it a dance between Lucidity and Unconsciousness.

       Had the two been lovely ladies, he would’ve gladly obliged.

       But, fate was often cruel. The only ~~friendly~~ face he’s seen was Bones (and Spock definitely didn’t count because the visit lasted two minutes tops). Now he would’ve been fine having Bones around. It was the fact the doctor tensed up whenever Jim tried to do **anything** that was off-putting.

       He attempted to move his right hand. As a reward, he received high-pitched beeps pounding his eardrum followed by sharp pain and numbness. He can see Bones, blurry but recognizable, saying something as eyelids grow heavy and the darkness just wins out.

       On the fifth day of his _captivity_ (which is what he’s going to call it until he’s allowed outside the room) he’d snapped. Spock would’ve described it as an illogical human need to interact with someone. Maybe it was illogical, maybe it was a solely human need; neither changed the fact that he wanted it.

       And come Hell, high water, or Bones with a hypospray, he was **fucking** talking to someone.

       “Bones!” he doesn’t quite recognize the voice coming from his mouth, “You will stop being quiet and talk to me damn it!” He hadn’t meant it to be an order, but the shit-storm was coming for him because he phrased it as one.

       “So you want to fucking talk Jim?” The animosity in his voice is only surpassed by the savage look in his eyes. Both caused Kirk to immediately retreat back into his bed; that sight was what nightmares were made of. He thought for a second and glanced at the doctor, there was a hypo in his hand.

       Jim stood corrected; **THAT** was what nightmares were made of.

       _He must’ve taken my death badly_. The realization hits him harder than a phaser; so hard, in fact, Jim’s face now wore a pained expression. Yet, Bones has to roll his eyes because there was no way his _patient_ realized the full extent of the doctor’s pain.

       Jim gave the room a quick glance, something that he’d tried to do multiple times before. And, seeing as he wasn’t sinking into blackness yet, he was going to try his luck and give his surroundings more attention.

       There were several bouquets on the floor. Most of them brilliant colors and a lot of the flowers were hues unattainable by Earth flora. It reminded him of summer, of the many species he’d –- ahem -- become acquainted with, of the diversity of his _crew_.

       The word sits on his tongue, sour and unappealing. It was wrong, the word should’ve used -- the word he would _always_ use -- was **family**.

       Closer to the bed, there were three commandeered medical carts displaying holo-cards and other things that he can’t quite discern. The sheer number of cards overwhelms him for a second, better judgment and whatever else Spock was teaching him rolling down his face.

       The other side of the room, as if in stark contrast, is empty. Well, that isn’t completely right; there’s a bedside table with everything he needed to start working again (including a report he had to file) and a box of chocolates. Bones had to know that it was against medical protocol to leave it there; he thinks about it for a few minutes and his tongue gains a mind and rattles the word off.

       “Ah, that’s from Chekov.” Jim’s just fucking glad to see that Bones’s hands are empty. “Trust a kid to get candy for a recovering starship captain.” The doctor was calm, nothing like the _animal_ he was before.     

      He’s beside the bed in a heartbeat and Jim can’t tell if he just lost time or Bones was just a fast devil. “So, out of everything, the chocolates are what grab your attention most?”

      Jim shot a ‘what the hell are you implying’ look which McCoy answers by looking up. Blue eyes follow suit and the owner’s surprised he didn’t notice the balloons sooner.

      He was speechless (which was incorrect because he did say ‘wow’); there were about twenty balloons and each was carrying a different message. Jim could barely make out the text; what he _could_ read ranged from ‘you’re an ass, but you’re our ass’ to ‘fucking get better already.’ Though, he has to admit his favorite is ‘welcome back, how was Hell?’

      A quick breath -- a remnant of a laugh –- came from the captain. “It was Scotty’s idea at first. But Sulu and I came up with the balloon text. I thought sarcastic humor was exactly what you needed.” Bones looked proud for a second before something dawned on him and he immediately placed a hand on Jim’s mouth. “If you make a joke asking whether it was ‘just what the doctor ordered’ I swear to God I’ll just hypo you until you get discharged.”

      “Medical malpractice?”

      “I could argue that your resurrection has made you mentally unsound, and it’s for your own good.” Jim _had_ to agree, it was plausible. The fact that the only one he’s had regular contact with was Bones also gave the doctor credibility. Spock would even find it _most_ logical.

      “I’ll shut up.”

      “Well, at least you still have some sense.” He noticed the captain return to eyeing the flowers. “Most of them were from when the girls came to visit. Lt. Uhura and Dr. Marcus came separately from the bulk of them.” He pointed to two holocards which were next to a stuffed elephant and a holo-disk, “They gave you those.”

      An uncomfortable second passed, and Kirk had finally found the question dancing on the tip of his tongue. “When?” Though, it doesn’t immediately elicit a response.

      “While you were asleep, unfortunately.” McCoy strolled to the foot of his patient’s bed and squeezes one of Kirk’s feet. “You feel that?” The captain nods, and mentally asks for his friend to elaborate.

       Surprisingly, Bones complies. “Spock, as you should know, was there when you regained consciousness.” He pauses, “Sulu, Chekov, and Scotty came the day after the day you woke up. The girls came on day three. And on day four, you missed the ‘Congratulations, you’re a zombie!’ party that most of the crew attended.”

      “What?” He can’t wrap his head around how ridiculous that last bit sounded.      

      He squeezed the other foot and asked the same question. Again, Jim nodded. “Well, the party happened on the occasion of you waking up.”

      “Doesn’t explain the name choice.”

      McCoy chuckled, “My idea. Felt like the crew could use a laugh after all the shit… we’ve been through.”

      Jim couldn’t help but feel that the doctor wanted to say, ‘All the shit _you_ put us through.’ But dwelling on what _could_ have been said was pointless. “Of course, your First Officer called the entire thing ‘illogical’ but, damn his opinion.” Three beeps sounded in quick succession and the doctor was rushing to the monitor. “Shit!”

      The pain hit him -- the answer -- before he could even ask the question. “AGH!” He clenched his jaw and stifled any remaining reactions to the pain with gritted teeth. “BONES!” The cry took more will than it should have.

      Bones _was_ a fast devil when he wanted to be -- **needed** to be -- and the fact relieved Jim. The pain from the injection doesn’t even register.

      And soon, he was drifting into a comfortable blackness.


End file.
